


You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don’t Take

by icywind



Series: The Best Game You Can Name [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (background pairings of), Alternate Universe - Hockey, Angst, Antoine Triplett - Freeform, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Headaches & Migraines, I write Clint as someone dealing with depression, Karaoke, Leo Fitz/Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie - Freeform, M/M, Melinda May - Freeform, Phil wants to do what is right even if it might not be what he wants, Pining, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter - Freeform, Team as Family, and guest appearances by:, and others - Freeform, he is undergoing treatment but it does color how he thinks and views things, natasha romanov - Freeform, super secret and silly cameo appearances by...well...it will ruin the surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/pseuds/icywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An almost kiss shared at the annual team NYE party gives Clint the courage to attempt to further his relationship with Phil – which backfires spectacularly. The middle of a grueling 82 game season is not really the best time to spoil your relationship with your coach, especially when it means the rest of the team moves to your defense, but that’s Clint’s luck for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don’t Take

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not be possible without my two fabulous betas [ereshai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai) and [phae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae). The two of them endured listening to me whine, cry, and in general be anxious about this story and then helped me make it readable for all of you. So so many thanks to both of you. 
> 
> This fic was written for the [Marvel Universe Big Bang](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com/) and I was extremely lucky to get amazing art from [Max72](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5088692), [sian1359](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5095937/chapters/11719766), and [sandrasfisher](http://sandrasfisher.livejournal.com/36073.html). Please check them out and pass on some love. 
> 
> As you might have noticed, this fic is part of a series. While it helps to have read the others, this should stand alone well enough – just know that the Avengers and various other MCU and comics characters are part of a hockey team as players and support staff. For your amusement, I have a roster [here](http://redsector-a.tumblr.com/post/132094469973/more) and a snapshot of their schedule [here](http://redsector-a.tumblr.com/post/132094418728/more).

 

>   
>  _From the blog Avenging Hockey:_  
>  On January 3rd, 2015 by Darcy Lewis  
>  Throw out the rest of your leftovers everyone, the Holidays are over. As is the Avenger’s staycation. The team went 2-0 against their geographic rivals the Devils and the Rangers. A good start to what, on paper, is the team’s longest road trip. The meat of the trip is still to come, with the team heading out to Western Canada for a matchup with the Vancouver Canucks. Puck drop is set for a little after 9:30 pm EST tomorrow so for those not working on Monday be sure to grab that extra cup of coffee tomorrow afternoon to stay up for it…  
> 

  
  


Clint managed to get in a quick nap before heading to the airport to embark on their five-game, ten-day trip out to Western Canada. Upon boarding the plane, Clint couldn’t help but grin at the way Fitz curled into Mack. The big D-man had sent him a few pictures of the two of them on New Year’s Day as thanks for the suggestions of what to watch - videos on Dan Craig and his work modifying various stadiums to hold rinks for the Winter Classic so Fitz could geek out over the tech. Though still early in the relationship, they seemed very happy together so far, which was undoubtedly a good thing given how protective the team was of Fitz.

“I’m thinking of mainlining some _Veronica Mars_ ,” Trip said as they took a seat together. “You in?”

“Tempting – I might be at some point. Tony had said something about playing trivia – maybe after that?”

“Individual or teams?”

“Not sure.”

“Well, good luck whatever way it plays out.”

“Thanks. Winner gets locker room music privileges for Vancouver and Edmonton.”

Trip gave him a tragically torn face, and Clint laughed uproariously. “Don’t worry man, you know my taste is good.”

“It’s not your taste I’m worried about.” Trip cast a look around and then leaned in for an exaggerated whisper as the plane began to take off. “I don’t want Pietro’s Ukrainian house music or Bruce’s smooth jazz.”

“Or Hank’s country music,” they said in unison.

“Mack’s Canadian, have we ever determined if he’s a Nickelback or a Florida Georgia Line?”

“Don’t think so, but I think he and Fitz are going to nap it out to Vancouver.”

“Probably for the best, I imagine they’d be a formidable team in trivia.”

“I hear that,” Trip nodded. They proceeded to shoot the breeze, trading ever increasing horrific ideas of the music they could end up being stuck with depending on who won up until the plane reached altitude and the pilot gave the okay to move around. Tony immediately called out for everyone interested in trivia to make their way to the back.

Rather than head directly towards the gathering, Clint detoured towards the front of the plane first. With the schedule they’d had the last few days, and the fact that Barney and the girls had been in town, Clint hadn’t seen much of Phil outside of practices and the game they’d played last night. Times when he was Coulson the Head Coach and not Phil his Friend…and the man he had feelings for. Clint hadn’t spoken to him really since the not-quite-a-kiss they’d shared at the New Year’s Eve party. Not that he knew what to say. It really was just a ridiculous tradition, and maybe Phil had been a little bit bothered by how the others had seemed to conspire to ensure they shared it? Had he finally figured out Clint’s attraction and wasn’t sure what to do about it? Should Clint apologize for it despite not having a part in setting it up (well, beyond wishful thinking)? If he said anything, would that serve to draw attention to it when he didn’t really need to?

Clint was probably overthinking everything entirely too much, he realized when he approached Phil. They were friends; it was just a silly kiss that didn’t really deserve the name for how brief it was. And anyways, Phil had been the one to lean in.

Which didn’t mean anything either. Nothing at all.

“Hey Coach – Phil, care to join in? If we get enough people we’ll be able to do pairs. It could be 80’s Hair Metal and Big Band the next three days.”

Phil glanced up, his expression turning almost guarded. That was a first. Even before he knew Clint well, he had always been open and approachable. It was one of the things Phil’s teams over the years loved best about him. When you only had weeks at a time to gel together as a national team with men who were usually your opponents, it helped when your coach led the way.

“I’ve got things to do, Barton, and no time to play games, so no.”

Clint was powerless to stop the flash of hurt on his face, and he quickly ducked his head and mumbled an “Okay, g’bye,” as he slunk away. Coulson (and that certainly was Coulson and not Phil, not even a little bit) could be stern when the situation called for it, but he wasn’t usually so carelessly harsh. Something of the hurt must have remained on his face because Steve gave him a concerned look once he reached the back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, hand grasping Clint’s arm gently to halt his progress. Always quiet, was Steve. Clint appreciated that. Yeah, Steve would fuss over the team but he tried to be low-key about it. He waited until Clint shook his head and met his gaze, glancing back towards Coulson and tilting his head. Years of playing together meant they were very good at communicating silently with one another.

“No, uh, yeah. M’fine.” At the narrowing of Steve’s eyes, he added, “Really Cap, I am.”

“Okay…” Steve drew out, skeptical but shelving it for the moment. Or mostly shelving it, it would seem, as Steve and Sam exchanged a series of complicated facial expressions when they reached the rest of the group. Clint tried to convey an air of ‘don’t worry, just drop it’ but he wasn’t sure how effective it was.

Despite the many bird-related nicknames he and his line mates had been given, they also had a reputation for a certain tenacity. Like a dog with a bone. That personality trait carried over off the ice as well. Normally Clint didn’t mind it so much. Then again, normally it wasn’t directed at him and his love life.

“Okay kids, Quizmaster Tony at your service here. Looks like we have enough takers to pair off so make your choices wisely – remember, this is for not only bragging rights but also music rights through oil country.”

In the end, Clint paired off with Bucky and they barely beat out Jasper and Jimmy Woo. If Bucky realized Clint was a little distracted during the game, he was kind enough not to say anything.

Despite his nap earlier in the day, Clint ended up dozing off once he returned to his seat next to Trip. They had a long road trip ahead of them and it was always a good idea to get in some sleep when you could.

And if it kept him from thinking about Coulson’s weird mood and the kiss they had shared, all the better.

  
  


~~

> _From the blog Avenging Hockey:_  
>  On January 14th, 2015 by Darcy Lewis  
>  After a successful tour of Western Canada and a not quite successful bonus round in Columbus, the Avengers have earned a day of rest…  
> 

  
  


By the time the road trip was over, Coulson’s mood had seemed to stabilize and things were slowly getting back to normal. He even went so far as to host one of his team dinners. Not everyone attended them, of course, but there was usually a pretty good turnout of six to eight players (occasionally with their significant others) and sometimes coaches or other support staff.

“I hope you guys don’t mind, but I brought Peggy along with me,” Steve announced as he entered the brownstone.

“Peggy’s more than welcome. Shit man, we’d be happier if Hank brought Jan more often,” Sam said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it.

“Is that an insult Samuel?” Peggy arched a brow.

“Not at all ma’am. Just saying I’d rather the company of some of my teammate’s better halves over theirs,” he grinned back.

“That’s cold man, cold but true in some cases,” Rhodey chimed in as Steve mimed being shot in the heart.

“Why does this always happen when we get together?” Peter asked as he was setting the table.

“Because _ohana_ means family,” Clint began.

“And family means teasing the hell out of each other?” Peggy finished with a quirk of her lips.

“Got it in one – this is why you’re my favorite.”

“I didn’t know you had favorites Barton,” Rhodey said with interest.

“C’mon Rhodes, you know I like Carol just as well. But Peggy…” Clint grinned and shrugged. Carol, despite her similarly chaotic and busy lifestyle, seemed to be more able to attend functions. Maybe because they occasionally could catch her on the road as well when her team’s schedule and theirs overlapped? Peggy, meanwhile, could only make a few events. Clint never really asked in depth about what she did at the United Nations – it was more fun to think of her as a more cultured and generally awesome James Bond type spy – jet-setting around the world and taking out bad guys.

Hockey players were cool and all, but nothing beat a female version of James Bond.

Dinner was a group effort as always – Phil providing the main course and often most of the ingredients for the sides depending on who offered to make what. The conversation was loud and boisterous and, even with two games playing on the television and a laptop, surprisingly not completely about hockey.

Jasper and Peter got into their ongoing argument of Pirates vs Ninjas. It had been over a month since they last got into it, so it was due, really. Peggy and Trip had quite the in-depth discussion of the European theater in WWII (from what Clint could glean, her grandmother had been active in the resistance and his grandfather had been in the Army).

Maria and Phil were talking about something she did with Pepper the day before, Clint was trying to be polite and not pay too close of attention to it. Well, partly to be polite and partly because he didn’t want to do anything to inadvertently make Phil upset with him again. Clint and Sam took turns coming up with ever increasingly ridiculous puns as the meal wore on until Phil finally had to call a cease-fire to stop all the groaning.

Steve and Peggy were the first ones to excuse themselves, just after dessert (Trip’s infamous pecan pie worth every calorie) had finished, Peggy gently leading Steve off with a finger under his chin and a ‘come along, future husband of mine.’

“What I wouldn’t give to be led off by a woman like that,” Sam said, no effort at all lent towards hiding his crush.

“Same,” Maria smirked, clinking her bottle together with his.

About a half hour later, the final horn sounded in Columbus. “Looks like we’re going to have to be better at helping ourselves,” Phil mused. The group had dispersed into the living room after the meal, crowding onto his large couch and several comfy chairs. They’d been flipping between the two games, and the announcers had given the score from Washington not long before their current game had finished. He pulled up the recap from the other game briefly. “Caps are looking damn good of late.”

“Three points back now,” Jasper noted as Phil pulled up the list of games from the night before.

“And the Pens took care of the Wild rather handily last night,” Peter said around a yawn. “They’re only a few behind the Caps, right?”

“Which is the game we were going to watch highlights from but someone looks like it’s almost past their bedtime,” Jasper said, bumping him lightly.

“Well, I know I need to get up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Maria said, smoothly rising and taking her empty bottle to the kitchen. “Anyone need a lift?” Sam raised a hand and Peter did as well, albeit begrudgingly to Clint’s eyes.

“I thought I was taking you home Petey,” Clint asked. He didn’t really want to cut out yet, but he’d promised. It was the only reason he’d driven over.

“I don’t want to make you head off early.” Peter said, scrambling to his feet and pulling on a hoodie. “Stay, watch the game. Do that voodoo thing you do so we can kick their butts and keep first in the division.”

“The freaky voodoo stuff doesn’t start until next month at the earliest Spidey,” Sam said as he helped Maria into her coat and pulled his on as well. “But if you see a weak spot, you let us know,” he pointed at Clint as the trio made their goodbyes and headed out.

Rhodey left next, then Trip, and finally Jasper excused himself, all over the course of the next half-hour. It was late, but, Clint was comfortable. He could stick around a little longer.

“Need some help cleaning up?” he asked as he and Phil both took their empties to the kitchen.

“It can wait,” Phil replied with an easy smile as they settled back on the couch, legs pressed together again as they had been earlier when the couch had been full, despite the fact that there was now plenty of space to spread out.

Phil was loose and relaxed in a way Clint hadn’t seen in a few weeks. It was a good look on him and he found himself smiling back without any real conscious thought. It was nice to get back to the familiar closeness they’d had before Phil had given him the cold shoulder during the Western Canada trip. Another ten minutes or so passed and Clint realized he was watching Phil more than he was watching the game. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him.

There was a feeling he got on occasion, he couldn’t really explain it, when something just felt right. It wasn’t like he saw a magical ray of light guiding the way or anything like that. Just a…certainty. A clearness that he was going to make a shot, that a pass was going to work, that whatever he was aiming for was going to happen. And sitting pressed against Phil’s side, Clint was getting that feeling.

He was watching Phil again, intently enough this time that he turned to look at him. Clint’s eyes fell to his lips for a second and then, before he could psych himself out, he leaned in to press their lips together. It was longer than the abortive kiss back on New Year’s Eve, but he still pulled away after a moment, searching out Phil’s gaze, ensuring he was welcome. Their eyes locked and Phil was the one to move this time, leaning into Clint to capture his lips once more.

Phil slid a hand to cradle the side of his face as he deepened the kiss, parting Clint’s lips on a sigh. Clint had never really cared for beer, but he thought he could get used to licking the taste of it out of Phil’s mouth. It was intoxicating, kissing Phil. It was everything he would never admit to having dreamed about, and he didn’t want to stop, not even to breath. He thought he could probably do nothing the rest of his life but kiss Phil and it would be more than enough.

They traded long, slow, drugging kisses for what felt like close to forever. Somewhere along the way Clint ended up in Phil’s lap, straddling him easily, one hand tight in Phil’s hair and the other fisted in his shirt at his side. He wanted to touch Phil so badly, get his hands on some skin, but a part of him was scared to move too far too soon. Phil had managed to ruck Clint’s shirt up and had both hands splayed over his lower back. He then trailed kisses along Clint’s jaw, scraping his teeth lightly over his ear, causing Clint to give a gasping little moan because fuck yes his ears were so sensitive.

Clint slid his lips down the column of Phil’s throat, kissing his scar then licking his tongue over it. It was important. It could have killed Phil and he would never have ended up here under Clint, making him feel like this, like his skin was on fire. His nerve endings becoming more and more sensitive so that even the lightest of caresses felt like heaven. Phil yanked him back up for a kiss that became more heated. Slid his hand down from Clint’s back over the swell of his ass, squeezing and rocking his hips upward. Clint let out a throaty moan and rolled his hips downward. The pressure was delicious and he whined, searching for more friction against his cock, half-hard and well on its way to full hardness. He found an answering bulge in Phil’s pants and rocked against it until he coaxed a groan from Phil’s throat.

He was so busy working at getting Phil to make that noise again, so focused on getting closer, getting more contact, feeling more of everything, that it didn’t register at first that Phil was pulling away from him.

“Clint, no. _No._ We can’t.”

And with that Clint was being unceremoniously shoved off of Phil’s lap and to the other side of the couch. His lips tingled and his legs were still splayed, erection evident under the denim. Clint shook his head at the sudden rush of cold. “Wait, what?”

“Clint. We aren’t going to do this,” Phil said and Clint found a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that his voice sounded so strained, that he couldn’t stop looking at Clint still sprawled out next to him. Unconsciously he licked his lips and Phil’s eyes, pupils blown wide from arousal, tracked the movement. It was a long moment before he spoke again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here anymore.”

“Phil…” and Clint thought he’d felt cold a moment before, but it was nothing in comparison to how he felt when Phil’s eyes met his, a hint of anger in them. “Phil, please…we should talk-”

“Clint.” He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. “Barton, please.” Phil swallowed heavily and held himself very still. “I’d prefer it if you’d leave right now.”

Clint said nothing as he quickly scrambled to his feet, careful to keep his eyes averted as he grabbed his coat and hurried out the door. He was good until he slid into the driver’s seat of his car, where frustration got the better of him and he ended up punching the steering wheel several times before finally smacking his forehead into it and staying that way for several long minutes. His hands were shaking from a mixture of leftover arousal and anger. Anger at himself mostly, for being such an idiot. He never should have leaned in and kissed Phil like that. Forced himself on him in such a way. He’d never been particularly good at making sensible choices when it came to relationships, so it was sadly par for the course.

Eventually he felt steady enough to put the car into gear and head home.

Lucky greeted him at the door, his exuberance switching gears to confused concern when Clint just wandered past him to collapse onto the couch rather than rub behind his ears and offer him a treat. Lucky very carefully jumped onto the couch as well, then crept his way over until he was half on Clint’s lap and resting his head against his chest, his good eye looking up at Clint with such love that Clint had to choke back a sob.

“I fucked up, boy. I fucked up so bad,” he muttered as he buried his head into the scruff of Lucky’s neck. The sound of Lucky’s whining covered up any noise he might have made once the tears started, for which he was grateful. He’d always figured it would hurt when Phil turned him down, he just didn’t think it would hurt quite so much, so suddenly.

He’d really thought there had been a chance that Phil felt the same way he did. That there had been a spark of something between them. But then again, he always had been pretty good at deluding himself when it came to relationships.

How had things gone from being so good to being so very bad?

 

~~

  
  


_**@AvengerPR:** FYI -practice will be closed to the press and public this am. Jan 15, 2015_

  
  


The following day Clint was very careful to keep his face neutral as the team readied themselves for practice. A murmur had arisen throughout the room when they’d found out Phil was closing the practice to both the public and the press. He didn’t often do that and most of the team was busy trying to figure out what the reason might be. A tiny seed of worry took hold in Clint’s chest that he was the reason.

The seed grew and grew as practice progressed and Phil – Coulson, he had to get used to calling him Coulson all the time again now – started acting completely unlike himself. He was short with the team, abrupt in his directions, and very quick to call out when he thought something was done wrong. Well, when it he thought _Clint_ had done something wrong, anyway, as he seemed to be getting the bulk of Coulson’s snappishness.

Make that basically all of it, Clint thought as he sighed when the whistle pierced the air again after he’d taken a shot. He heard some muttering from his fellow forwards as he skated back towards center for another “talk.”

“What was that?” Coulson asked as Clint neared.

“A shot on goal following the execution of the play you outlined?” Clint replied, voice carefully even.

“That was not the play I called for.” Phil leveled an unimpressed look at Clint. “You were supposed to feign the pass to Wilson, then head around the D to the left, leave a drop pass for Rogers, and then either follow up on the rebound his shot would have created or taken a shot of your own from him at close range.”

“The exact play you called for would’ve worked better against Lang and Mack; however Luke’s stronger on the left. Had I gone that way he would’ve poke-checked me easily. I feigned right, which let me bounce the pass off the boards to Rogers – a safer option than the drop pass because Danny was coming in hot – and his subsequent pass back to me was only a little closer to the circle than the trapezoid. I had to think on my feet and alter it slightly for the situation. The backbone was still there. Still sound.”

“You’re not paid to think for yourself, Barton. You’re a player. I’m the coach. I give the orders - you follow them.”

Clint’s stomach lurched and his eyes stung as he looked down and away. This felt familiar. Familiar in the worst way possible. _‘Just a player. Just a stupid player. Can’t think for himself. Nothing but a problem for talking back.’_ The voices whispering in the back of his mind sounded so very much like Duquesne and Chisholm and so many other coaches who’d told him he was only worth his shot and even that was pushing it.

He’d never amount to anything.

He was too small and too stupid to get far in the NHL.

He just wasn’t team material.

Clint’s ears were ringing, and he was so caught up in his past memories that he missed the start of the commotion.

“Oh you heard me right,” Steve’s voice said. Clink blinked back to the present, and somehow he’d gotten in between Clint and Coulson. “I said that’s absolute fucking bullshit, sir.

“Bruce – hey Brucey. You need to stay calm Bruce,” Tony was saying from somewhere behind Clint.

“You don’t have the right to question me like that, Rogers.” And that was Coulson’s voice.

“Oh, I think I do,” Steve replied, his anger palpable from the set of his shoulders and the steel in his voice. “You’ve been treating Clint like shit all practice long.”

“I have n-”

“Aye, you have, Coach,” Thor said as he drifted closer from the opposite end of the ice. “It is most apparent.”

Clint slunk back further until he bumped into a solid weight. It was Bruce, and if looks could kill, well…things wouldn’t be looking too good for Coulson right now.

“I don’t know what bug crawled up your ass about Barton, but maybe you should think about removing yourself from this situation until you get over it,” Steve said.

“What makes you think you have the right-“

“He does have the right, Phil,” May said quietly from his side. “Or at least he has a point. You’re not acting like yourself right now. Take the rest of the day off before anyone says or does something they’ll regret.”

“I don’t…” he visibly deflated as if the magnitude of what was going on had finally hit him.

“Jasper and I have got this. Go.” And without another word to or from anyone, Coulson left the ice. May’s eyes turned to Clint next, and he was more than a little hesitant to meet her gaze. “Clint,” she started softly. “Hey, look at me, please?” When he finally did look up, her expression was infinitely patient. “You made a good call on the play. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have liked to see it play out if you’d gone with the original idea – see if you really would have lost the puck and made an attempt to regain it, but it was a good switch up. Never doubt your instincts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

“You okay to finish practice?” she asked, her voice low enough that no one else, save perhaps Bruce who was still a strong presence at his back, could overhear. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. There is nothing wrong with cutting out early.”

“I don’t…” Clint sighed, his gaze lowering to the ice again. Around him he could hear the rest of the team milling about, Jasper making an attempt to corral a few of them, stalling for time. It would be easier to slip off the ice, of that he was sure. Slip off the ice and then wallow in self-pity. That…was probably not the best choice in the world. Too much quiet and too little to do meant he had time to think too much. He’d get too caught up in his own head. “I think I’ll stay out, if you don’t mind,” he said, raising his gaze back to meet May’s. A hint of a smile played on her lips and he knew she approved of his choice.

“Alright, Black – I want you to line up on the far end; Forward Corps - line up over here, we’re going to shake it up a little bit today,” May announced as she skated away from Clint. Bruce patted his ass before making his way back to the net, and Steve and Sam both made a point to bump into Clint in a show of solidarity as they joined the other forwards in the line against the glass, awaiting May’s next instructions.

 

~~

  
  


The rest of practice went smoothly and Clint found himself feeling looser than he had expected to be. As usual he lingered on the ice longer than the others, the crisp air and the sound of his skates cutting through the ice grounding him like few things could. By the time he got in and showered and changed, most everyone had moved on to either the lounge area or were making their way home. He had just pulled on a sweater when a throat cleared in the doorway.

It was Coulson. Because of course it would be Coulson.

“Could we, uh,” he cleared his throat again, clearly nervous. Clint thought the feeling was mutual. “I’d like to have a word with you in my office, if we could.” His eyes kept darting around, not quite meeting Clint’s. “About…last night…” The looseness from practice fled Clint’s limbs and a knot suddenly formed in his stomach, but Clint nodded his consent. He followed Coulson to his office, careful to keep a fair distance from him after an accidental brush of his hand made Coulson actually flinch (such a departure from how they used to walk around – bumping together casually without a care in the world).

“For what it’s worth – I’m sorry. About practice today and about last night,” Phil began as Clint hovered awkwardly half-way between the couch and the chairs. It didn’t feel right to sit on the couch. It was too familiar. Too comfortable. But the chairs, even separated from him by the desk, were too close to Coulson. “I had no right to talk to you that way today. No right to treat you like that, and I can’t begin to apologize for it. You are a remarkable player with a very gifted mind. I am so sorry.”

Clint nodded but remained mute. He wasn’t sure he really knew what to say. Thank Coulson for the apology? That didn’t feel right. Maybe because that felt like it would absolve Phil of all guilt. Not that Clint wanted him to feel completely guilty, but he was - to a point anyway. And he needed to realize that. Coulson nodded stiffly as well, shuffling a few files on his desk like he was trying to work off nervous energy.

“As for last night-”

“You don’t re-”

“No, I do,” Phil shook his head. “I can’t take advantage of you like that, Clint. I’m your coach.” He swept a hand from the papers on the desk towards the ice that was located somewhere off to the side of his office. “A relationship would be an incredibly bad idea. I hold too much power over you. It’s not fair to you, or to me.” He sighed and Clint could see a muscle ticking in his chin. He was upset then. Was it anger? Or something else?

“Today was the best example of why it’s a bad idea. What the worst outcome of a relationship between the two of us could be. I can’t let my personal feelings affect how I view and manage the team. I can’t take things out on you or anyone else like that. If you and I are fighting, I can’t let that affect how I see you on the ice. If you and I are in a good place, I can’t let that make me go soft on you on the ice.”

He continued to ramble on in that fashion and Clint was listening, he really was, even though every word felt like a shard of glass piercing his heart. Reminded him of the darkest moments of his life when he felt unworthy of his friends and family. That he’d never be good enough or strong enough to do right by them. That he’d never be complete or normal enough to find someone to love him.

He agreed with Coulson, actually. Well, his logical side did anyway. It was quite the forbidden relationship: a coach and a player. He didn’t know what he had been thinking giving in like that. Part of him, though, couldn’t help but notice how the framing of it all seemed to land on Clint, noticed that it sounded an awful lot like he just wasn’t deemed worth the effort or the risk.

Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard that one.

“I agree,” he said suddenly, interrupting Coulson in the middle of a sentence. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Right. A mistake,” Coulson nodded. It made him look a little like a bobblehead. Clint almost wanted to laugh, but it probably would come out rather hysterical at best or more of a sob at worst if he did.

“One that I won’t make again,” he choked out, amazed at how even his voice sounded. “The team is too important.”

“Right. Exactly.”

“Right,” he echoed, and they spent a moment nodding awkwardly and then staring at each other. “I should–probably, uh, get going…”

“Of course,” Coulson nodded yet again, breaking from the weird trance he’d been in. “Let me get the-”

“Nah, I got the door,” Clint said as he made for the handle. He could feel Coulson at his back, not touching but near enough that the heat of him reached Clint. He resolutely didn’t turn around. Neither of them made the comment that they probably shouldn’t spend so much time alone together anymore. It wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be safe.

“Goodbye,” Clint said as he slipped through then closed the door behind him.

 

~~

  
  


Later that night, Natasha was kind enough to hold him, stroking his back and his hair, as he cried and told her about everything that had happened. She didn’t judge him. Didn’t chide or make him feel bad for anything he had done. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve a friend like her.

  
  


~~|~~

  
  


> _From the blog Avenging Hockey:_  
>  On January 16th, 2015 by Darcy Lewis  
>  There’s a quick turn-around for the boys this weekend as they’ll be boarding a plane for a game in Montreal tomorrow after facing off with the Penguins tonight…  
> 

  
  


It hit Clint a few minutes into the third against the Pens. At first he didn’t really notice, the tiny blurred spot in his vision easy enough to ignore among the occasional floaters and in the heat of the game. Crosby was being Crosby and they were down a goal; and Clint, just like the rest of the team, was busy looking for ways to sneak a few past Fleury. He was drifting around Bruce’s net during a stoppage when he shook his head and noticed it was getting bigger. And that meant he was getting a migraine. He knew he should excuse himself during the next change and slip into the locker room where Strange could give him his meds, and he could sit in the quiet room and hope it would pass quickly. Shaking his head again, he settled in for the faceoff. Steve won it and they cleared the zone with ease.

“We’re going to shorten up the bench a bit,” Jasper leaned in to say after Clint had settled back on the bench and he simply nodded, taking a long pull from his Gatorade. He’d be okay for a little while probably. They just needed that tying goal and he’d be able to go off.

The blind spot was beginning to grow by his next shift, and he very nearly missed a pass from Danny, somehow he still managed to get off a good shot that left Fleury scrambling. The TV timeout hit at that point, so they all drifted back for some pointers as the ice was being cleared. Clint closed his eyes and took several deep breaths as Coulson pulled out his whiteboard and began outlining plays. He tried his best to pay attention, nodding in the right places and trying to commit what was said to memory.

“You good?” Sam asked as they skated back towards the goal.

“Be better if we were up by one,” he tried for a grin and figured it worked from what he could see of Sam’s face. _‘Okay Barton. This should be easy. Steve wins it back, take two steps towards the center and shoot.’_ He didn’t need to be able to see completely to pull that off.

One beat. Then another. Then the puck was suddenly on the blade of his stick and he was in motion, drifting backwards and taking the shot. The sound of the goal horn and the crowd erupting into cheers told him he’d made it, and he threw his arms up only seconds before the others crashed into him in a group hug.

“Aaaaaaaaaavengers goal! Scoring his 23rd goal of the year, number 64 Clint Barton! With an assist by number 18, Steve Rogers!” Stan’s voice came over the speakers.

The blind spot had grown some more by the time the hug disbursed, but he managed to make his way past the bench for high fives and a small salute towards Bruce at his net before he made to get off the ice.

“Stay out! Stay out!” Coulson’s voice came through clearly and Clint had to bite back a grimace as he made a 180 and drifted back towards center ice. The change in direction caused his stomach to lurch violently. _‘Not gonna throw up. Not gonna throw up,’_ he chanted to himself, breathing slowly and deeply as he took his place at the red line.

“Looking a little green around the gills there Barton,” Downie said from his place across the line. Clint didn’t really catch the rest of his trash talking as they waited for the puck to be dropped; too much of his concentration was focused on staying on his skates and not vomiting on the ice. He managed a quick lewd gesture in ASL which gained a huff of laughter from Downie and managed to get him to shut his mouth. Clint had just slipped his glove back on when the puck was dropped. With a grunt, he pushed his way past Downie and drove towards the net. Knowing his peripheral vision would be shit for at least another five minutes, he parked himself in front of the crease, trying to make as much trouble for Fleury in goal as he could. It was, perhaps, not the best decision he’d made that day (and really, he’d been making more than his normal amount of bad decisions for any given day) as he was jostled and shoved and sworn at by the goalie and his teammates alike as he fought for position, trying to screen so his line mates had a better chance at making the shot.

A loud clang signaled that a shot had made it to the post and it was followed closely by a far more muffled whump as another shot hit Fleury. A sudden flash of black and Clint instinctively took his own jab at the second rebound. The next thing he knew he was laying flat on the ice and the crowd was roaring again.

“Fuck me,” he muttered squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting his arms up in the air in a half-assed attempt at a celebration. Someone grabbed his arms and pulled him a little ways away even as he was also pulled up into a sitting position where he was glomped by the rest of his team that was on the ice.

Stan was running through his usual schtick as Thor helped pull Clint to his feet for a round of high fives and another salute to Bruce. At least his eyesight was clearing again, he noted absently as he returned to the bench. It didn’t quite make up for the increase in the vertigo and nausea though.

Coulson offered Clint a small smile and a quick, “good job” when he settled in at the bench. Clint wished he didn’t feel quite so bad so he could appreciate that - and the fact that it was the most normal interaction they’d had in days. He took his place next to Steve and received a hearty backslap from Mack as he leaned forward.

With a swiftly muttered “I’m gonna be sick,” Clint bolted off the bench and down the tunnel, quite literally bouncing off the walls as the dizziness threw off his equilibrium. He collapsed next to a bucket, into which he promptly threw up. Next he knew a strong arm wrapped around him, holding him steady.

“Easy Mr. Barton. Easy,” Jarvis said from behind him. Nimble fingers reached around to unsnap and remove his helmet, and he looked up to find Natasha’s face before him.

“How long?” she asked. The ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ remained unspoken.

“Ten? Fifteen? Visual’s almost gone.”

“Dammit Clint!” she huffed out. “You good to get to Strange?”

He nodded then winced because that was a bad idea. With Jarvis supporting one side and Nat tucked under the other, they made it back to the locker room and then into the quiet room. “I can hear you muttering about how stupid and stubborn I am,” he grinned at her as she and Jarvis began divesting him of his gear.

“Well, someone needs to sometimes,” Stephen Strange deadpanned.

“Love you too, Doc.”

“He waited until after the visual aura had mostly passed and he was too dizzy to walk on his own,” Natasha said curtly as Strange poked and prodded Clint.

“Had to get us ahead.”

“Yes, because you don’t have seventeen other teammates that could also pitch in,” Jarvis said while balling up tape and tossing it into a bin.

“Got the job done…” Clint muttered, letting his head droop a bit and his eyes slip closed once more.

“Yes, you did,” Natasha agreed, her voice turning a little more soothing than chiding. “But next time, try to also take care of yourself, hm?”

“Yeah, sure, fine,” he agreed. Anything to get them to stop talking. Soon enough after that he was led into the showers where he did a quick clean up, and then Strange put an IV into his arm as he settled into a more comfortable position. Jarvis stayed with him for a bit, and then his head was raised gently to be slipped onto a lap as fingers stroked through his hair.

“Oh Sport, why do you do these things to yourself?” Bobbi said just before he slipped into sleep.

 

~~

  
  


Clint slept through the remainder of the game. He was briefly roused when Bobbi departed and was replaced by Luke and then Tony, as more than a few of his teammates decided to check in with him to see how he was doing.

Clint was dozing still, off and on, the soft background hum of the television indicating that Steve had been in the room during one of his lulls. He was pretty sure it was Bruce sitting with him right now though since his head was cradled comfortably in a lap again. The sound of his name caught his attention, and he strained his ear trying to hear the post-game press conference with the volume so low.

“How is Barton?” Coulson repeated. “He’s resting at the moment and doing as well as can be expected.”

“Do you approve of what he did?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that in the way you want me to. I trust my players. I trust them to know their own limits. In speaking to Strange, it seems the migraine came on very suddenly for him. During the heat of the game, a division game with important points on the line, I imagine Barton was secure in his belief that he could make a difference in the game and still get off the ice for treatment. And he did make a difference. Not to diminish the efforts of the rest of the team, but his two goals sparked the comeback. He livened up the bench when it was getting hang-dogged. Now, do I wish he could have gotten treatment a little sooner? Sure. I don’t like anyone on my team suffering.”

Bruce’s hand stroked over his head and settled on his neck and Clint allowed the television to return to more of a background hum for him. Reading between the lines, it seemed Coulson was more than a little frustrated with him. Well, at least he wasn’t alone in that. Though, Coulson already had more than a few things to be disappointed and frustrated with Clint about.

_‘Great job, Barton. Making yourself into more of an ass in front of him. No wonder he doesn’t want you.’_

“Can you shed some light on why you seemed to be upset with Barton during practice yesterday?” Christine Everhart asked.

Clint’s eyes flew open, and Bruce’s hand tightened on his shoulder. On the screen he could see the nearly imperceptible tick in Coulson’s jaw that signaled he didn’t like the question.

“I can’t really speak to what happened during yesterday’s practice. Or I suppose what people _think_ happened during yesterday’s practice as it was closed to the public and the press, and anything anyone may have thought they saw while skulking around and peering through closed doors and gaps in merchandise in the store should be taken with a grain of salt.”

“Be that as it may, there are several reports that something did occur during that practice,” Everhart pushed.

“Again, I cannot comment on that. I closed that practice for a reason. I’ve been a little stressed lately – in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a heated division race. I could feel myself getting a little too tense for comfort. I was concerned something might be said or done that could be misconstrued by the press. You guys do sometimes tend to make mountains out of molehills and create problems where they really don’t exist. I don’t want to do that kind of thing to my players. I want to keep outside pressure off of them and-”

The sound cut off as someone, Rhodey judging by the muttering, shut the television off.

 

~~

Clint didn’t remember much about the trip to the airport, or getting onto the plane itself. Shortly after take-off, he twisted around until he was tucked in with his head in Sam’s lap. Not long after that he was lulled into sleep by Sam’s fingers gently carding through his hair. An unknown amount of time later he roused, shifting and making a questioning noise.

“Shhh…” Sam soothed, scratching lightly at his scalp. Clint was pretty sure if he had the ability, he would have purred like a cat. “Not there yet. You’ve got some time.” Clint settled again and felt himself begin to drift off, at least until Sam’s thigh suddenly tightened under him.

“How’s he doing?” Coulson’s voice said from above. Clint kept his eyes shut and tried to look like he was still calm and sleeping.

“Sleeping,” Sam replied. “So keep your voice down please.”

“Right. Sorry.” Coulson’s voice hadn’t been that loud to begin with, but he still managed to lower it some. “Do we have a plan to get him on the-”

“We’ve got everything sorted for the bus ride and hotel.”

“Do you ne-”

“We shouldn’t need any help.”

“Wilson.” Coulson sighed. “Sam.” Clint could almost see the look on his face. Features warring as he struggled with what he wanted to say. “I’m not the enemy here. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

It was difficult for Clint to keep his breathing even and not tense up. It was probably the knowledge that any tension would just serve to make the headache worse that kept him relaxed, honestly.

“With all due respect Coach, you need to work on that.” Sam’s hand tightened on his arm as Clint heard Coulson take in a breath.

“I don’t think-”

“Pardon the interruption, Coach, but Miss Morse wishes to speak with you,” Thor cut in, interrupting Coulson before he could get going. Looks must have been exchanged because there was a tense moment of silence before Clint heard footsteps head away and then the sound of Thor easing himself into a nearby seat.

“How fares my dearest Hawk?”

“How’d you know m’wake?” Clint mumbled, eyes remaining shut.

“Sam indicated as such.” Clint grunted at that. “Sleep my friend. We will take care of you.”

Clint wanted to argue that he didn’t need the special treatment – he was an adult, thank you very much – and could deal with Coulson and take care of himself. Still, it was nice to be taken care of, and the lingering migraine symptoms and the meds to treat it made him much less likely to be a stubborn idiot, so he soon drifted back to sleep. He roused again, vaguely anyway, when the plane landed, the bustle of his teammates as they disembarked breaking through the cloud in his mind. Then there was the disconcerting sensation of being scooped up into a pair of well-muscled arms.

“This’s ridicls, I’cn walk,” he slurred, even as he settled in against the warmth of Thor’s chest. _‘This is really comfortable,’_ floated through his mind, followed by, _‘I think they gave me a sedative.’_ He didn’t quite catch Thor’s reply, though he felt the rumble of his voice against his face where it was pressed against his chest. Later he felt the sensation of being tucked into a bed, and soft curls (Natasha’s?) brushing lightly against his face as a kiss was pressed to his forehead.

 

~~|~~

  
  


_**@AvengersPR:** Barton is on the trip and his playing status tonight is a game time decision per HCPC. Jan 17, 2015_

  


The following morning Clint woke slowly, stretching and taking stock to ensure there were no aftereffects in his limbs. His head felt surprisingly clear and, to his shock, pain free – even when he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bruce said as he gingerly sat up. “How you feeling?” He asked, handing over a Gatorade and some pills.

“Amazingly unlike I was hit by a truck,” Clint gulped down some Gatorade then ran a hand over his face. “What did Strange give me anyway?”

“Your normal meds, albeit a higher dose. IV fluids and a sedative.”

“Thor carried me bridal style off the plane, didn’t he?”

“Yup. Off the plane on to the bus, and then off the bus and into the hotel.” Clint raised a brow as he drank some more. “There are pictures. Not too many at least – everyone was keen to get to bed.”

“Well that’s something I guess,” he mused. Not that he minded the teasing, but it was easier not to have to deal with it _too_ too much. Still, if they were busy teasing him about being carried around like a damsel in distress, then maybe they wouldn’t talk too much about what had happened between him and Coulson.

It was a nice thought, but more wishful thinking than anything. Hockey players were the worst gossips.

“You want to talk about it?”

Clint dropped his gaze and began picking idly at the blanket still covering him from the waist down. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but it wasn’t as if the others didn’t know something had happened to sour the relationship between him and Coulson.

“Last night didn’t have anything to do with practice the other day,” he began, then stalled. How did he even begin to explain this?

“Or what, exactly, happened to precipitate what happened at practice?” Bruce’s face was patient but expectant. He’d never force Clint to talk about it. That was how Clint knew he would be telling him everything.

“Kinda?” he hedged, reaching back to ruffle his hair. A knock at the door saved him from having to speak again for a few minutes at least, and he tried to marshal his thoughts. Bruce was a lot like Barney (a combination older-brother, father-figure type) with a slightly smaller overprotective streak. He wouldn’t judge Clint for what he said. He’d be supportive.

“You slept through breakfast,” Bruce explained as he wheeled the cart in. “Wasn’t sure what all you might be in the mood for beyond straight carbs, so I got a variety and I’ll eat whatever you don’t.” Clint smiled in gratitude; Bruce was well used to how he could get after a migraine. “Soon as you get something in you, we’ll have to call Jemma to check you out. And text Fitz so he can stop fretting.”

As usually happened with a migraine, he didn’t feel hungry at all until he started eating, and then he was suddenly ravenous, especially for carbs. In no time he had gone through two slices of French toast. It took a cup of fruit and two eggs as well before finally started to slow down. All the while Bruce sat patiently, sipping at a cup of tea and picking at his own meal. His expression was so open, so kind, that Clint finally felt like he could talk.

“The other day. The night before that practice. After that team dinner – I ended up staying late. Staying after everyone had left.” He took a shaky breath. “I uh…we were watching highlights from a game and, uh…” he swallowed heavily. “I kissed Coulson.”

Bruce’s face flicked from openly accepting to concerned. “Oh Clint…”

“He kissed me back.” Bruce’s mouth shut with an audible click. “It was…it was good, for a while anyway.” He looked down at his food, poked a piece of egg, then decided on a sip of tea instead. “Then he pushed me away. Said it was wrong. We shouldn’t be doing it…and I left. The rest, well, you pretty much know the rest.” The look of compassion on Bruce’s face was too much for him, and he had to hide his face away, shoveling some eggs into his mouth and chewing without really tasting them.

“And after practice?” Bruce gently pushed after giving him a moment to collect himself. Because of course he would have figured out something had happened then as well.

“Yeah… After practice we had another talk, and he outlined all the reasons why it would be a bad idea. And I don’t…” Clint huffed out a breath. “They were all solid reasons. I can’t argue them. The logic of them.”

“Feelings don’t really subscribe to logic though,” Bruce said quietly.

“No. No, they don’t.” Clint wasn’t sure if he ever loved Bruce more than in that moment when he didn’t reply with something trite. No quips about finding someone else or that it would stop hurting after a while. True though all those things were, Clint was not ready to hear them. Instead, Bruce simply reached out a hand to squeeze the back of Clint’s neck, then his shoulder, his face infinitely kind and understanding.

“You can… You can tell the usual suspects if they ask.” They both knew the others would. “If I don’t get to them first anyway. It will…it’ll be easier.” He could maybe get the group together to tell everyone at once – it would certainly hurt less than saying it multiple times (just like a band aid – quick was best) but it would also be more than a little awkward. Having a ‘Hey I fucked up my relationship with our coach because I couldn’t contain my feelings and I’m an idiot for even hoping he’d reciprocate them even a little bit, much less fully’ meeting was just not high on his to-do list.

“All right,” Bruce nodded. “And staying in the game when you should have left? Were you trying to prove something?”

“I’d like to say no, but…” he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I don’t really know.” And the thing of it was, he didn’t know. Not really. Staying out like that hadn’t really been a way to stick it to Coulson. At least, he was pretty sure it hadn’t been. He had no idea what it proved, other than perhaps Clint didn’t always make the best decisions for himself.

Kind of like falling for someone unattainable like his coach.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded, the matter shelved for now it seemed. “Finish up your breakfast; I’m going to call Jemma.”

 

~~

  
  


Jemma cleared him to play that evening – with stern instructions to stay hydrated and to actually say something at the first sign of a problem. His teammates reacted in a variety of ways, some teasing him for his theatrics, others commenting that he really needed a better excuse than a lame headache – the playful insults that were the backbone of any good team. Underlying all of it was a current of concern for him and a gladness he was doing better.

“Okay, starting we’ll have: Hawkeye, Captain America, and Falcon out front; Power Man and Iron Fist backing them, and Iron Man in the net,” Coulson announced. Cheers, stomping, and clapping rung out around the room as each nickname was said, a steady rise in the energy level of the team accompanying it. Steve rose from his stall first and took up position at the door.

“Avengers….” he began and as one they all replied “Assemble!” and rose to their skates to head down the tunnel.

As he waited behind Tony and Rhodey, who were doing their little dance before heading out, Coulson caught Clint’s eye.

“Glad you’re doing better, Barton.”

Clint nodded and followed the others out.

He could deal with this. He could.

 

~~|~~

  
  


_**@AvengersPR:** Be sure and check out our boys at the ASG this weekend! Jan 20, 2015_

  
  


The All-Star break couldn’t have come at a better time for Clint. He spent the first day sleeping in, then wandering around in his pajamas and generally wallowing in self-pity. Clea and Andrew both had said it was okay for him to wallow every once in awhile as long as it didn’t become a habit. It was healthier to have that release valve rather than bottling it all up.

The following day he had lunch with Kate – who was too busy griping about Eli, Tommy, and America to call him out on his own issues. And while he wasn’t really happy with his own unrequited love, at least he wasn’t stuck in a confusing teenage quadrangle of ‘Who do I really have feelings for?’ That evening he Skyped with Mike and Danya. He wasn’t normally in the business of hiding things from them, but he wasn’t ready yet to admit what he’d done _‘kissing his coach...God that was so stupid’_ and then he went to bed early to prepare for the flight the next day.

Columbus was…Columbus; thankfully there were more than enough scheduled activities to keep him busy. While Steve, Rhodey, and Pietro had all joined him on the trip, he ended up rooming with Barry Allen from the Starlings. Steve had offered, but as much as Clint loved the guy like a brother, he really didn’t want to deal with his hovering concern.

There was the whirlwind of press-day, and then hanging out with the fans lined up outside the arena and a number of other locations around the city. It was hard to feel sorry for himself with all the kids around. Kids who were happy just to be near him, let alone get a picture taken or have something signed. He made sure to spend as much time as he could with every fan, giving back in the easiest way he could.

Ovechkin’s antics during the draft had been amusing, and Clint actually ended up following him and Tarasenko around a little like a puppy that evening. He loved hanging out with Russian players. The accent and the language always put him at ease. It reminded him of Anna in the circus and growing up in Evanston with the Belovs and Natasha a few doors down, drinking strong tea while Ivan and Mike discussed hockey.

The skills competition was, as always, enjoyable. Clint’s trick for this iteration of the Breakaway Challenge was to score a goal while blindfolded. It was slightly easier than one would think; well, at least locating the goal was. It was all about angles and math and knowing where you were on the ice, really. He even managed to get a few past the surprised goalies.

The game itself was as overdone an affair as usual – though he did enjoy himself. Maybe it was because it was all about being ridiculous and having a good time.

Maybe it was because Coulson wasn’t behind the bench as a constant reminder of Clint’s failure.

 

~~|~~

>   
>  _From the blog Avenging Hockey:_  
>  On February 2nd, 2015 by Darcy Lewis  
>  The Avengers snapped a five period shutout (117 minutes, 27 seconds) streak for Richards with a first period goal from Sam Wilson. That was the first goal scored against Richards since back on January 27th when Wade Wilson (absolutely no relation) scored in the first period in an eventual loss for the Thunderbolts…  
> 

  
  


Clint wandered into Fury’s office after practice on the second of February. During the past year or so he would’ve gone to Coulson’s office for a post practice hangout/nap. Since that was no longer an option, he returned to his old habits, sneaking in and stretching out along the couch while Fury gave him a bland look.

“What’ll it be today?” he asked once Clint looked to be comfortable.

“Um…some Miles Davis maybe?” They had been working through some Etta James the last time Clint had been to his office (just because he had started hanging out in Coulson’s office, didn’t mean he had stopped hanging out in Fury’s - he just did it less often) but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to chance a soppy love song at that moment. Fury nodded and soon after piano chords and a bass line flowed out from the speakers, followed shortly by a light drum beat, and then finally by the signature trumpet.

It took him a moment or two, but he finally placed the song. “So What,” which meant they were listening to _Kind of Blue_.

“Trying to make a statement?” Clint questioned after they’d sat silently for a few minutes.

“Not particularly,” Fury replied, sitting up from his relaxed slouch to rest his arms on his desk. “Though you asking me that is making me a little curious if I should be.”

“I should have come to you earlier…” Clint began, sitting up himself and turning towards Fury with a sigh. He’d waited almost two weeks to tell Fury he’d messed up and kissed Coulson. And even then it had been done quickly, with more than a little guilt. He hadn’t lingered too long after Fury had nodded and said he knew. That Coulson had told him.

“Well, maybe,” Fury hedged in reply. “But I’m not sure it would’ve made all that much difference.” He leaned back in the chair again and folded his arms casually across his chest. “The rest of us were attempting to nudge the two of you together after all.”

“Still don’t know why you guys did that.”

“Because, and I still believe this, you two could be good for each other. I just failed to realize how far Phil’s head is up his ass.” It was a testament to how many years they’d known each other that Fury didn’t even blink at the ‘say what’ face that Clint shot him.

“Well, I’m not going to begin to dissect that, thanks.” Coulson had made it clear he wasn’t really interested. Or, at least interested enough to want to work at it with Clint (which was basically the same thing).

“I didn’t say you had to,” Fury replied with a shrug, though his features actually softened by a fraction. “Just don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?” Clint nodded. He’d heard that from Clea and Andrew both and he was trying. “And try not to beat Phil up too much either. Relationships are one of the few things he’s bad at.”

Clint knew that Coulson and Fury went way back, so he knew that the advice was sound. It just didn’t make it any easier to take.

“Now then, let’s see if we can’t figure out how to solve Price, hm?”

Clint allowed a small smile to spread as he leaned back to get comfortable once more before launching into a discussion about how best to beat the Canadiens.

 

~~|~~

  
  


Monday the ninth marked the start of a home stand, and they’d been given the day off from practice. Normally Clint would’ve still gone in, but with all things considered, he’d decided to sleep in instead. Well. Tried to anyway. Incessant knocking at his door at 8:00 informed him someone else had other ideas, and he shuffled half-awake and clad in only his sleep pants, Lucky trailing behind, to see who it was.

And that’s when he learned that the Maximoff twins had adopted him.

Pietro breezed by him with an armful of groceries, making a beeline for the kitchen while Wanda stepped in more slowly, smiling warmly as she did.

“We woke you. I am sorry, you know how Pietro is,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and stepping around him to greet Lucky.

“Ooo! Affection!” Pietro grinned, suddenly back at Clint’s side to press a kiss to his other cheek. “Put on a shirt, Barton, stop giving the neighbors an eyeful,” he said, shutting the door as Clint stood with his mouth open slightly in confusion.

“I don’t…what…” he trailed after the twins and paused at his breakfast bar as Wanda moved efficiently around, setting out the items she was going to use immediately and putting others into the fridge.

Pietro breezed out of his bedroom and tossed a hoodie at him with an eye roll and an, “I told you – shirt,” before he joined his sister in moving around Clint’s kitchen.

When he had first joined the team, Pietro had declined living with a teammate or billet family as many teams often had young players do. He wanted to live with his sister and the two of them were fiercely independent. Clint had happened to mention to Fury that there was an opening in his building, and the GM had worked on convincing the twins that despite their independence, it would be a welcome comfort to have a friendly face nearby. Eventually they had agreed and over the two years they’d lived in the same building, Clint’s apartment had become something close to a second home for them with the way they came and went, one or the other occasionally sleeping over when they had a fight or wanted some privacy with a date.

Clint found he enjoyed being a big brother.

It was nice, albeit a little confusing, to have them taking care of him; but he was willing to roll with it. It had been happening with the team as a whole, really. As word had spread about what had happened between Clint and Coulson, the team had begun forming a protective ring around Clint. Buffering him in instances when he had to spend time with Coulson. He was never left alone at a meal. He was pretty sure there was some sort of rotation of seatmates for travel on planes, trains, and buses. Someone always ‘saved him a seat’ during team meetings.

Tony had been showing an amazing amount of restraint in his teasing of late – as well as finding the tiniest of excuses to give gifts to Clint. Tony wasn’t the best when it came to expressing his emotions – the gifts were often how he showed the team he loved them when he couldn’t find the words.

Bruce and Betty had invited him over for more than a few meals of late, which wasn’t a rare occurrence really; though, he estimated the invites were about double the normal amount. He’d spent a few nights with Nat and Bucky, and Steve and Peggy as well – usually with Sam along so Clint didn’t feel like a third wheel. He was pretty sure he’d ended up going out more in the past month than he had the several months prior combined.

Thor had taken to hugging him more often as well. Clint wasn’t complaining – Thor hugs were the best. Every so often he would murmur softly that Clint was a fine catch and he would find someone to treat him well. And, on one occasion, he had proclaimed that the Lady Darcy had seen fit to defend his honor by switching Coulson’s secret coffee stash to decaf.

Clint fucking loved his misfit family of a team more than he could properly express.

And so, he settled in at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee as Wanda went about making French toast with Challah from the bakery down the street (Clint’s not so secret favorite breakfast) and Pietro made himself useful and an annoyance in equal turns.

“Victor is coming over for dinner later this week,” Pietro waggled his brows.

“Oh?” Clint questioned as Wanda gave her brother a withering stare. Her expression softened, with perhaps a touch of a blush, when she looked back at Clint.

“Sunday,” she said, expertly flipping a piece of toast in the pan. “You can join us if you wish. I would appreciate some civilized company. Or at least someone to distract Pietro,” she grinned as Pietro squawked in indignation. The verbal equivalent of a slap fight began, and Clint couldn’t help but chuckle. Victor Shade was a forward for the Devils. He’d played with Hank for a few years and they had remained friendly. It was during a dinner last year that he and Wanda had met. Sparks had flown, but it was a bit of a slow burn still. Newark was close, but the life of an NHLer was a hectic one. At least Pietro seemed more open to the idea of his sister being in a relationship. One of the things Clint and Wanda had bonded over early in their relationship was the fact that they both had overprotective older brothers.

As the minutes passed and the trio engaged in teasing, storytelling, and planning Sunday dinner, Clint slowly began to relax. And as they enjoyed their breakfast he found himself feeling more content than he had in weeks.

 

~~|~~

>   
>  _From the blog Avenging Hockey:_  
>  On February 23rd, 2015 by Darcy Lewis  
>  The Avengers’ hope to bounce back from the loss down in the District was dashed last night against the Canucks, even with starting goaltender Ryan Miller going down with an injury in the second. The back-to-back nature of the games undoubtedly didn’t help as the team looked quite slow out of the gates. Hopefully a day of rest will help. The next game up is tomorrow evening against the visiting Starlings…  
> 

  
  


A few weeks and short trips to Raleigh and Washington later, and February was nearly over. Despite being the shortest month of the year it somehow always felt like the longest. The heavy schedule they had this year didn’t help, but today at least was an off day. Clint still found himself at the Compound however, shooting the breeze with Billy and Teddy in the shop and signing autographs for the few kids that turned up and recognized him.

He was grabbing two waters at the team’s front desk upstairs when Coulson came out from the offices.

“Barton, what are you doing here on a day off?” Coulson asked – as if Clint hadn’t been known to turn up to skate on those days anyway. His reputation as a rink rat was well earned.

“Uh, I told Oliver to meet me here, actually,” he replied with a shrug as they instinctively moved deeper back into the hallway for more privacy. Rose wasn’t one to pry, but she did have keen ears.

“Oliver? As in Oliver Queen?”

“Yeah,” Clint said slowly, one eyebrow ticking up slightly. “We’re having lunch.” The telltale ‘I’m annoyed with something being said’ muscle tick in Coulson’s jaw was suddenly in full force.

“You do know what his reputation is like, don’t you?” Coulson asked, and Clint felt his own jaw tense.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he kept his voice as low as possible despite the fierce edge to it. “You think that, what? Oliver’s reputation as a bad boy is going to somehow sully mine if we’re seen out eating lunch?”

“His reputation as a _playboy_ , and yes, it could come back to-”

“Oh my God, you are not for fucking real with this shit!” Clint planted his hands on his hips where they were less likely to tighten into fists, and he was careful to breathe through his nose in an effort to remain at least a little bit calm. Was Coulson more bothered by the idea that Clint would be seen as a possible playboy by association or that he would be seen as the latest in Oliver’s (many supposed, but few actually real) relationships? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I can eat with whoever the fuck I want whenever I want, and fuck any idiot who wants to spread rumors and gossip about it. You don’t get a say in that.”

It felt good in a strange way to be letting out some anger at Coulson after tip-toeing around him for the last month. The look of mild shock on his face was satisfying to see. At least it proved Coulson had some sort of feelings on the matter other than constipated annoyance with how the team had circled the wagons around Clint.

“Furthermore, if I wanted to start something with Oliver, I have that right. You don’t get a say in that either. Remember, _you_ were the one that didn’t want _me_.” And with that Clint made his way back towards the desk and the door beyond it where Oliver was just arriving.

Oliver’s brows very nearly met his hairline at the look on Clint’s face as he brushed past him to head back out to the parking lot.

“Long story, don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t about to,” Oliver shrugged in reply as he turned to follow. He remained silent as they got into Clint’s car – where he took one look at how tightly strung Clint was and reached out to place his hand over the keys in the ignition so that Clint couldn’t start it up. “Breathe, Bart, breathe.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, letting out a frustrated growl as he did so. “God. Fucking. Dammit.”

Ever so gently, Oliver pulled the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the center console, then placed his hand over Clint’s on the steering wheel. “Now, I think either I should drive, or we should sit here in this lovely parking lot for a little while so you can let off some steam and we don’t get into an accident on our way to the restaurant, okay?”

The anger, accompanied by more than a little frustration, was making Clint shaky. He took several more deep breaths in and out, trying to calm himself down again. It only worked vaguely, and he glanced over to Oliver, feeling more than a little helpless. Then, before he knew it, he was pouring out everything that had happened – from the almost kiss on New Year’s Eve, to the real kiss and make-out session weeks after that -and the spectacular fallout that had stemmed from it. He’d covered how his teammates had gone to defcon-one to protect him and ended with the bizarre encounter he’d just had with Coulson.

“Barry said it was bad,” Oliver said softly once Clint had finished. “And considering it was Barry ‘I’ve been in love with Iris West since childhood’ Allen talking, I knew it had to be something. Just, perhaps not this bad.”

“Bruce, Sam, Nat, and Bobbi deserve some sort of joint Nobel Prize for keeping me together this long. Hell, all of them do, really,” Clint laughed, though it lacked any trace of humor. “Don’t know why they put up with me sometimes.”

“I’ve heard around that friends do that for each other,” Oliver replied, his lips twisting into a wry smile when Clint glanced over at him again. “If I’ve got people crazy enough to put up with me, I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few yourself.”

Clint’s laugh was a little more genuine this time. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well that’s high praise coming from you,” Oliver raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I guess in the grand scheme of things making out with my coach isn’t quite as bad as dating both my coaches daughters,” Clint teased, finally feeling a little more like himself.

“That’s a low blow man,” Oliver groaned. “It wasn’t at the same time.” He met Clint’s gaze for a ten-count before admitting, “Okay, it was both for a very short while because I was an ass and didn’t break it off properly with Laurel. But I’m a much better person now and we’re all friends again.” Clint raised one eyebrow. “Okay, Sara and Laurel and I are friends and Coach Lance mostly tolerates me again and has done for years. Felicity has helped a lot with that.”

“How is the lovely Miss Smoak?”

“She’s doing very well and says hello by the way,” Oliver’s smile was far more peaceful than Clint had seen it in the last few years.

“You know, I was going to let you buy today since it’s your city – but it’ll be my treat,” Oliver said as Clint finally started and put the car in gear. “It’s the least I can do, after all, if I am going to besmirch your honor.”

“Dinner before the besmirching? That’s very gentlemanly of you.”

“I do try,” Oliver grinned. “I do try.”

 

~~

  
  


_**@tazemelew:** The singing Starlings are in town we’re down at Bob’s tonight. You know the drill! Feb 23, 2015_

  
  


Despite the fact that he didn’t really drink, Clint did have a bar he frequented. Bob’s Road (because Lane or Alley just sounded silly according to Bob) was actually three bars in one, not including the game room and bowling alley. Clint frequented it because the Left Bar, as it was collectively known, hosted karaoke most nights of the week. And while they very well could have karaoke parties at Tony and Pepper’s (and they had on more than one occasion) sometimes he liked to unwind by singing a few songs by himself or with a friend or two.

Monday nights were actually one of the few nights the Left didn’t do karaoke, but with the Starlings in town, Clint was able to talk Bob himself into letting them use it. It probably helped that they tended to gather quite a crowd as the night wore on, though the bouncers and bartenders were always careful about who they let in around the players. Most fans were quite harmless, but you could never be too cautious.

Clint led off with “American Pie” while the others hunched over the selection book. As much as he loved to sing, doing so in public could be a little nerve-wracking, which is why he generally went first. Less time to think and he usually felt much better with one song under his belt. He was quite proud of himself for not tripping over the lyrics when Darcy and Skye arrived…with Coulson in tow. Darcy caught his eye and offered him an apologetic shrug. It wasn’t as if either of them could fault Skye for wanting to spend time with her father.

Despite the distraction, Clint finished with a flourish and accepted the applause gratefully before making his way over to Mark at the bar. He was settling in at the table with his glass of water when Barry started in on “I Want You Back.” He simply winked at the unimpressed look Clint leveled at him.

The jerk.

“Eddie’s sorry he couldn’t make it,” Cisco told him, taking a pull from his beer.

“Lingering effects of a cold,” John Diggle explained.

“Worked through at least half the team,” Cisco continued a moment later, after doing a little shimmy at Barry. “I think we picked it up in Hartford.”

“It was probably Richards,” Tony said with a quirk of his lips.

To his side, Sam paused a moment in his singing along to add in an undertone “stretchy motherfucker.” No one liked Reed Richards all that much, though the Avengers had taken their trash talking to a team level.

Cisco bounded up to the stage before Barry had even fully left it, and Barry was still chuckling when he took his teammate’s vacated seat to Clint’s right. “I’ve got a few ideas for duets,” he said to Clint, stealing his water for a long drink.

“Please, help yourself,” he shook his head in reply. “And as long as we do “Under Pressure” I’m game for anything.” Barry’s grin was a little manic and Clint briefly wondered if that promise had been a terrible mistake. “And just for that look, you’re doing Freddie and I’m doing Bowie.”

Darcy followed Cisco’s spirited version of “Party in the USA” with a soulful rendition of “Royals.” Tony then followed her with a high energy “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” which had half the table miming slap shots at him and occasionally shouting “Sieve!” just to get on the goalie’s nerves. Sam and Dig finished out the opening round with “Sweet Caroline” and “Suspicious Minds;” the former allowing the entire bar to join in and the latter showing off Dig’s rather impressive Elvis impression.

Barry then grabbed Clint by the hand and pulled him on stage for “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” because despite his innocent look, Barry was an evil man who trolled his friends. At least in doing a duet, Clint had ample reason to not look towards Coulson at all.

After the song finished, Clint made a beeline for the bar to grab a pitcher of water for the table. Oliver slid in next to him, resting a hand on his waist and leaning in. “Just so you know, Coulson’s glaring daggers at me at the moment.”

Clint dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. “Sorry Ollie.”

“I don’t mind. You and I know nothing is going on, and Felicity knows nothing is going on. Only one that doesn’t is your coach.” His breath was warm against Clint’s ear and he leaned a bit closer to the contact. He might not be interested in Ollie, but he was a tactile creature by nature and his friends enjoyed flirting as much as he did. “Do you wonder why he cares so much?”  
Clint huffed out a breath and glanced towards the ceiling briefly, then tilted his head to speak into Oliver’s ear. “I’m trying not to think about it, actually.” From his position draped against Oliver’s chest, it was easy enough to flick his gaze over his shoulder towards Coulson – who abruptly looked back down at the table.

So he _was_ watching then.

Normally Clint wasn’t a petty man by any stretch of the imagination. He’d always been the wide-eyed hopeful one with the sweet and trusting attitude. His blood was still pumping from the accusations this afternoon though. And that coupled with the still lingering hurt from how Coulson had turned him down made him want to lash out.

If Coulson was worried about something between him and Oliver, maybe they should give him a little show. See how he liked stewing in whatever poor mood he was in the way Clint had been. He leaned in to share that with Oliver, who smirked and shrugged. He was game.

“I’ll have a Braven Black and he’ll have a Braven White,” Oliver requested after Clint nodded his assent. On nights like this he’d generally have a single drink. Not enough to even get a buzz, but it was enjoyable. With the assurance that the water would be out to the table in a moment, Oliver then pressed his free hand to the small of Clint’s back as they wound their way back to the table.

Steve and Diggle both raised a brow at them as they settled in; Oliver ever so casually draping his hand across the back of Clint’s chair, his fingers resting lightly on his opposite shoulder. Dig was the more easy-going of the two and he soon coughed into his hand to disguise a laugh. Steve finally shrugged in a more ‘what can you do?’ manner. Clint had been expecting more disapproval from his captain, and the reprieve was a welcomed one.

“Well, you certainly got someone’s attention,” Tony drawled as he rose to sing his second song. Clint nearly choked on his beer when it turned out to be “Every Breath You Take.” Barry and Sam both had to put their heads down against the table in an effort to control their laughter, and even Steve ended up smiling and shaking his head.

Clint’s friends were all assholes, really.

“Too much?” Tony asked upon his return as Skye and Darcy took the stage.

“You have to admit, it had a certain resonance to it,” Oliver said, massaging Clint’s neck lightly.

“Do I want to know what exactly is going on?” Cisco asked, pouring himself some water as Tony “helpfully” yelled out the ‘tell me mores’ for the girls’ version of “Summer Nights."

“It’s probably better if you don’t,” Steve responded.

“Clint Barton!” Darcy demanded from onstage. “You’re up next and I’ve already picked out your sooooong!”

Clint smiled and nodded good-naturedly as he rose from his seat and headed back to the stage. Darcy pressed a rather sloppy kiss to his cheek - she wasn’t that drunk, just putting on appearances - and handed the mic over to him.

“Oh, I hate you just a little bit darling,” he muttered, the mic picking it up and earning him a smattering of laughter, as the lyrics for “Killing Me Softly” popped up on screen. He had planned on singing “Paint it Black” and would have preferred, at the very least, to avoid anything that could be misconstrued as relating to a relationship. He didn’t change the pronouns (he never did) but he was careful to not look at Coulson, even going so far as to close his eyes during the second verse. And yet in the end, when he opened them back up, he managed to lock gazes with Coulson. He looked away as quickly as he could, trying not to think about the look in Coulson’s eyes and on his face, one of awe and perhaps a little longing (projecting much Barton?) and finished out the song to enthusiastic applause.

He retreated silently to the table, nodding absently when Oliver offered to pour him a refill on his water and not really paying attention to Sam and Dig reenacting scenes from Top Gun as they sang “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.”

By the time Clint got on stage for his last solo - “House of the Rising Sun,” which suited his throaty voice quite well - the others had finished drinking alcohol for the night, though the casual observer might not realize it from their antics (Tony took a particular delight in attempting to act out lyrics to some of the songs). Coulson had been watching Clint off and on all evening, and glared daggers (according to Sam, who was occasionally prone to exaggeration after a few drinks – as well as prone to dancing the Carlton during his rendition of “It’s Not Unusual” much to the delight of everyone) at Oliver for the one and only song he’d gotten up to sing.

Barry then joined him on stage and they finished it off with their version of “Son of a Preacher Man.” Disheveled and smirking, it wasn’t entirely clear who was supposed to have debauched who, and it brought down the house. Well, their table and several others were shouting and cheering anyway.

Coulson didn’t stick around to talk afterwards, vanishing out the door with Skye before Clint had even managed to get down from the stage.

 

~~|~~

  
  


_**@AvengersPR:** One down, one to go! Get loud tonight gang! Feb 28, 2015_

  
  


Back-to-back games sucked. Three sets of back-to-back games within a span of less than two weeks sucked even more (the fact that the second set was played entirely at home didn’t really change that much). The 5:00 start time for the second game of this latest set hadn’t helped any either – Clint hadn’t felt this gassed in a long time. Still, they’d managed to pull out wins in both games, hard fought and sloppy as they’d ended up being.

There’d been a scary moment early in the second when Steve had had to leave the game thanks to a hit to the head. They’d been down by three goals by that point, Tony off to an uncharacteristically shaky start, and the team had ended up spinning in its tracks for a moment. Despite wearing an ‘A,’ Clint didn’t always consider himself much of a leader. Yeah, he could lead by example – being physical and scoring goals to rev up his teammates - but he never considered himself to be a leader like Steve or Rhodey.

Today had been different.

Yes, he had been physical, and yes he had scored a goal – but he’d also gotten three assists. He’d been a constant source of encouragement and full of ideas to share with both his teammates and the coaches. Every shift had mattered. Somehow he managed to get into the Canes’ minds to the point where they damn near panicked when he took the ice – allowing his teammates to run circles around them.

Reporters in the locker room after had asked him about how he’d taken control of the game in the second period.

Sam had made the comment that “He’s always had flashes of this, but it usually takes a back seat to Captain America over there.”

Steve had praised him and said there was a reason he wore an ‘A’ and that none of them had any qualms with Clint being the captain when something happened to him.

It was both surreal and satisfying.

Whatever energy had possessed him during the game and somehow sustained him during the media frenzy afterwards had slowly drained away as he’d scarfed down some pizza (not the healthiest option, but the dietitians wanted quick and easy calories in them after two games in a twenty-four hour period). Then there had been the round of congratulations and teasing from the others, including the awarding of the Mighty Mjolnir for the player deemed ‘worthiest’ in that game (Thor had the best ideas sometimes – it didn’t matter it was a toy hammer, it was way cooler than a belt, shovel, or hat).

Clint had been one of the last into the showers – a few of his teammates had actually left the arena by the time he got in there. He’d probably ended up soaking under the stream a little too long because by the time he’d emerged everyone else had finished changing and had moved on. With a sigh he padded over to his locker and leaned against it for a moment, head propped against his raised arm, too tired to even reach for his underwear, let alone a shirt or pants. Eventually, as he was debating if anyone would really care if he crashed in a towel on a couch, someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to find Coulson standing there. Clint’s hand immediately went for his waist to cinch the towel a little more tightly around himself. Was he just tired or did Coulson’s eyes track that movement?

“Sir?” he cleared his throat a little. “Can I uh…help you?” They hadn’t had a private conversation since Clint had snapped at Coulson for getting pissy about him sharing lunch with Oliver. Had that only been four days ago? It felt like so much longer.

“Yes, um…sorry.” Clint’s eyes had to be playing tricks on him because it looked almost as if there was a touch of color on Coulson’s cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt you changing. I thought you would have already been done.” Coulson was definitely having a rather difficult time meeting Clint’s gaze. “I actually wondered if I hadn’t missed you leaving entirely to be honest.” More than once over the last month and half, Clint’s teammates had swooped in and ensured Coulson didn’t have too long to talk to him as he was leaving after a game.

“Nah, you didn’t,” Clint replied, waving a hand unnecessarily at himself. “Think I zoned out a few times in the shower. Probably lucky I didn’t drown myself,” he chuckled.

“Very lucky,” Coulson murmured, then shook his head as if he caught himself thinking or doing something wrong.

Clint had to admit, it was possible he was projecting with that last thought.

“I’ll um – I’ll leave you to it then. To changing, that is.” Coulson swallowed heavily. Maybe nervously? “I um…I was hoping I could have a word with you before you left?”

Suddenly Clint didn’t feel so tired anymore.

“It’s not bad!” Coulson held his hands up in a placating gesture the second he read the tension in Clint’s body. “I swear, it’s nothing bad. I just…we haven’t spoken in a while and I…I miss it. I miss you.” His gaze, which had been bouncing around Clint’s face for the most part, finally fixed on his eyes. “I want to apologize again for how I treated you last month and, well, you know – I don’t want to do it here. Not with you like that.” His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Someplace neutral? With you fully clothed? I don’t want you to feel vulnerable.”

“Okay…” Clint breathed then nodded to himself. “Okay.” What the hell was happening? “How about that little lounge in the medical corridor that no one uses because the concrete walls are too depressing and no one’s thought to repaint or add artwork?”

“Well, as long as we’re even on the vaguely discomforted by our surroundings feelings, I suppose it would work.” Coulson’s smile after the statement softened slightly as Clint shrugged and unconsciously ruffled his hair. “Ten minutes? I’ll bring you some Powerade?”

“Green melon,” they said together. Clint may love the color purple, but fake grape flavored products were nasty as hell. Clint then turned around, certain his own ears probably were a little pink, and waited for the sound of Coulson’s footfalls to exit the room before he began to get dressed.

 

~~

  
  


Ten minutes later Clint breezed into the aforementioned lounge to find Coulson perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the chairs. He rose quickly and rather awkwardly to hand Clint his Powerade, then let his hands fall to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” Phil blurted. “This is-”

“Awkward?” Clint suggested as he took a seat on the chair opposite the one Coulson was hovering in front of. It was more than a little weird to see him so nervous. In fact, it made Clint nervous himself. And given that he’d been nervous already before coming into the room…

“Yeah…Sorry, again,” Coulson said as he took his seat once more, this time at least sitting back in the chair and not looking like he was ready to bolt. He did nearly knock over a bottle of water as he sat though. “Did you get enough food? Do you need me to get anything else for you?”

“No, no. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good. Okay.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Clint offered with a shrug before taking a drink. One of them needed to bite the bullet and try to have an actual conversation before the tension killed them. “I’ve missed talking. Spending time together.” He fiddled briefly with the bottle cap, nervous energy needing an escape. “Just…being friends.” Hell, one of the reasons he hadn’t really wanted to admit to having feelings for Coulson was because he truly enjoyed the friendship they’d managed to form and he hadn’t wanted to ruin that.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Coulson – while I appreciate the apology, I’d appreciate it more if you didn’t keep saying it every ten seconds.” Coulson’s mouth opened and closed as if he were about to apologize for apologizing. “You’re not Canadian you know.” And that joke, old and well used as it was, earned Clint a smile.

Clint had forgotten how much he enjoyed that smile.

“You were amazing tonight, you know,” Coulson finally said after they’d shared a brief moment of simply enjoying a silence that hadn’t been that comfortable between them in far too long.

“I was just doing what anyone else would’ve,” he deflected, hand scratching at the back of his head, self-conscious as always with the praise.

“You were doing what anyone else would try to do – but not everyone can do. I admire your humility, but don’t let yourself believe what you did tonight wasn’t amazing.”

Clint’s cheeks warmed and he ducked his head, reaching back again, but stopped his hand and dropped it back to his lap. It took a moment before he could raise his eyes again, and when he did his breath caught a moment at the look in Coulson’s eyes.

Getting ahead of himself had cost him dearly before, but he was certain the look in Coulson’s eyes was more than one of admiration right now. More than just pride for a member of his team. He had to be careful though, with that little spark of hope that couldn’t help but alight inside him. Coulson had said before that their relationship wasn’t worth the risks. And getting his hopes up now only to have them dashed again?

Clint didn’t know what he would do if that happened. Didn’t even want to think about it.

“Barton – Clint,” Coulson sighed as if unsure where to begin. “I know you and Nick talk, but I don’t know what all he’s told you so please – please let me get everything out without interrupting, okay?”

Clint nodded. He could do that. He wanted to do that. Hear more about Phil.

“I’m absolutely terrible at relationships,” he began with a humorless chuckle. “That’s probably an understatement, really, but there is it. I’m not good at talking about my feelings or letting people in. My last relationship ended seven years ago because he couldn’t handle the fact that I put hockey first over being with him.” His tone was full of regret, eyes downcast as if meeting Clint’s was too difficult. And maybe it was. It was hard for anyone to be candid like that – maybe looking at Clint made it all the more real. Present. “I’ve…done that in all of my relationships, to be honest. Well, at least romantically.”

From everything he knew, Coulson had been a great father to Skye, so what he was saying made sense. Clint didn’t doubt for a moment that she was one of the few people he could be open with.

“I don’t want to do that with you, Clint,” he said, voice quiet but sure. Clint’s eyes darted up from the floor to meet his gaze. “I want you. I want to be with you so badly it fucking scares me. That’s why I panicked last month, you know. It doesn’t make it right, but that’s why I pushed you away. I got scared and it made me angry. I just-” he let out a shaky breath. “I used to only see the game in my future. Coaching, GMing, helping players develop, just being connected to the game. That was enough for me. Love and relationships were for people like Skye – I was content with the idea of just enjoying her being happy with someone while I had this game. And then you-” he paused and cleared his throat. “And then you came into my life. You worked your way past more walls than I realized I even had. I started looking at that future and I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want it unless it had you in it as well.” He paused to drain half his bottle of water and dropped his gaze away from Clint’s as if he were feeling guilty.

“This is a lot to put on you and I know you said not to apologize again, but I am sorry for dumping this on you. I…I know you have so many options out there. So many people that would be better for you than a middle-aged balding man with serious commitment issues and an inability to express his feelings.

“If you could ever find it in yourself to forgive me for being such a jackass, I would like to be friends with you again. And if…” Coulson’s expression turned almost shy. “If by some chance you still potentially reciprocate any feelings for something more…” He looked away again, cheeks red.

“I just wanted you to know.” he continued eventually. “And I uh – I spoke with Jasper and Melinda. They’ve promised to keep an eye on how I treat you. A very careful eye. My feelings for you and whether or not you reciprocate them will not affect your place on this team one bit – if they do, those two will tell me, and I will resign as coach before jeopardizing your career in any way.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. It’s probably better if you don’t, to be honest. I just…I just needed you to know that you are one of the most beautiful and amazing men I’ve ever known.” And then he nodded a little stiffly and rose to his feet, and Clint scrambled to follow suit. “Tomorrow is an off day, but, I’ll see you Monday at practice?” and with only the barest of nods from Clint, Coulson strode out of the room.

As soon as Coulson left, Clint collapsed onto the chair, his knees giving out. His throat felt like a desert and his head like it was full of cotton. He could not have just heard what he thought he had heard. He must have dozed off in the shower or something. There was absolutely no way Coulson had just admitted to being interested in him. To wanting to pursue a relationship with him. To being willing to quit his damn job, a job he loved almost as much as his daughter, to ensure Clint’s career was protected if anything went wrong in their potential relationship. No way.

Any minute now he’d wake up in the shower.

“Hello? Anyone back here?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway.

Clint startled badly, dropping his drink and making Fitz jump when he entered the room. Fitz recovered first, darting forward to grab the bottle, which thankfully for the carpet and Clint’s pants, had its top still on. He set it to the side and kneeled in front of Clint.

“Clint? Are you okay? D’you need me to get Jemma? Strange? You’re white as a ghost!” His lilting accent did nothing to hide the almost panicked concern in his voice. “It’s not a migraine again, is it?” His brows furrowed and he pressed a cool hand to Clint’s forehead.

“Fitz,” he began his voice little more than a croak, easily drowned out by Fitz’s, “Should I turn the lights out?”

“Leo,” Clint started again, thankfully his voice sounding a little more normal. “I’m fine Leo.”

“Are you sure?” Fitz shifted his hand from Clint’s forehead to his shoulder, as if he were afraid that something would happen to him if he weren’t touching him in some way. “Why are you in here anyway? I saw the light and figured someone had left it on by accident.”

“Yeah, no, sorry about that. I um…I came in here for a few minutes to collect myself is all. Needed some quiet time, you know? Helluva game and all that.” Fitz’s entire face wrinkled up as he debated what Clint had just said.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because you don’t look that good.”

“I just need a little sleep is all,” Clint quirked the side of his mouth up in his usual smirk.

“You know Mack wouldn’t mind dropping you off on the way home,” he pressed, face still scrunched up adorably in concern.

“I’m good, Leo. I swear.” His smirk bloomed into a full smile as he raised his hands to cradle Fitz’s head and press a kiss to his forehead. Thankfully he wasn’t shaking at all, and though his legs were a little wobbly when they stood, he managed to hide it. Fitz hovered behind him as he went back for his coat and then as he made his way towards the exit.

“You’re sure?” Fitz asked one final time.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now go, before Mack comes looking for you. See you later.”

“Have a good evening! And get some sleep!”

Clint nodded and waved as Fitz wandered back into the bowels of the arena to meet his boyfriend. ‘Get some sleep.’ That wasn’t likely to happen. He had far too much to think about to manage that.

 

~~

  
  


Once home Clint swapped his suit for sweats and a tee before pulling his coat back on and taking Lucky out for a walk. It was good that he was a fairly easy-going dog because Clint sure as hell wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. All he could think about was what Phil had said. What he had offered. Perhaps sensing his master’s inattentiveness, Lucky finished his business quickly and ushered Clint back into the building – a far cry from their usual evening routine where he did his best to spend as long as possible sniffing around. He didn’t even beg for any extra food or treats, just licked Clint’s hands and trotted over to his bed in the corner, where he always went to pout when Clint was packing for a road trip.

Phil had told him to think about it. To take all the time he needed. He knew that logically he probably should take at least a few more days. Maybe talk it over with someone else. He was dead tired and overly emotional at the moment, and what he really needed was a good night’s sleep before he did anything rash.

He grabbed his keys off the peg and left a note at Simone’s door to check in on Lucky.

 

~~

  
  


“Barton?” The look on Phil’s face when he answered the door was one of complete and total shock. “It’s almost eleven – you should be in bed.” Despite the words, he moved out of the way to let Clint in and shut the door behind him. “Are you…okay?”

Clint swallowed heavily and opened his mouth, only to find himself unable to say the words. To tell Phil how much he wanted this. He hoped like hell he was managing to show it on his face. A minute passed. Phil was studying him closely, his own face slowly melting from confusion to hope.

“Are you sure?” Phil expression was suddenly fierce. “I need you to be sure.”

“Yes,” Clint managed to whisper, and then Phil was on him, pressing him back against the door, and Clint couldn’t help but groan as he licked into his mouth. Phil kissed him wet and deep with more than a little bit of desperation.

“Yes,” he said again when Phil trailed biting kisses down his throat.

“Yes,” he whispered against Phil’s collarbone before sucking on it in earnest.

“Yes,” he moaned, grinding against Phil’s leg pressed between his. “Yes, please, yes.”

His coat was left in a heap by the door. His shoes and shirt somewhere along the way to the bedroom. He wasn’t entirely sure where Phil’s clothes had been flung to. Or how they made it to the bedroom without injury given the way Phil had been palming his ass the entire time. Then, after the mad rush to get there, Phil was suddenly careful, almost reverent, as he removed Clint’s sweats and boxers in one move and then urged him back onto the bed, leaning in for a lingering kiss, but then pulling away.

“Wha…what’s wrong?” Clint panted, raising himself up to his elbows. Phil stood in front of the bed in his boxers, erection tenting them obscenely (he was bigger than Clint expected and that realization made him feel equal parts giddy and nervous) simply staring at him.

“I just… I’ve trained myself for so long to not look at you… I’m just enjoying the view while I can.”

Clint felt the blush burning his cheeks and he had to look away from Phil for a moment. He took good care of his body, sure, but he was nowhere near as big or ripped as Steve or Thor. And while he knew he was attractive and been told so, something about the way Phil was looking at him - with awe almost, like it was privilege, made something squirm in his belly.

“I hear the view up close is pretty good too,” Clint said a moment later, still blushing but gratified when Phil laughed. His arousal kicked up another notch a moment later when Phil dropped his boxers and knelt on the bed to crawl up Clint’s body.

“That it is,” Phil said before kissing him again, long and deep and not as desperate as before, but there was still a certain edge to it. They both moaned and Clint’s eyes rolled back when Phil finally eased his weight down a little to press them together from chest to thighs. Suddenly it was like a dam had broken and they began to move together in earnest, kisses growing sloppier, words being replaced by panting and broken noises.

“I don’t…oh God,” Clint curled a leg around Phil’s hip to get better leverage as he thrusted upward. “I don’t know what you had planned…fuck yes.” He lost a moment as Phil changed angles. “Not gonna last long for much.” Did that last sentence make any sense? He found he really didn’t care and he cried out as Phil wedged a hand between them to grasp both of their cocks and stroke.

“Me either,” Phil gritted out as Clint threaded his fingers between Phil’s and they began a punishing pace.

Phil came first, his body stilling for a moment and his breath hitching before he let out a strangled little noise and a long breath as he jerked against Clint. Clint came with a high cry not long after, his come adding to the mess between their bodies. His hand went lax but Phil continued to stroke them through the shaky aftershocks before collapsing against Clint’s side.

They laid there for a while, chests heaving and breathing labored as they came down from the high. Clint didn’t normally fall asleep immediately after sex, even damn good sex, which that had totally been (best handjob in his life, anyway), but suddenly the previous few days were catching up to him and he found himself drifting a bit. At least until he felt Phil lever himself off of the bed.

Did he – was he expecting Clint to get up too? Was he having second thoughts now that they’d had sex? Did he need to leave and go home? Clint tried to sit up and express his concerns but his body was still lax and sated from the orgasm, and his eyes started to drift closed again. A moment later Phil pressed a kiss to his forehead and ran a warm wet cloth over his chest and groin to clean him. Clint opened his eyes and offered a sleepy smile, panic drifting away. Phil tossed the washcloth somewhere and settled back into bed, pulling a sheet up over them. Clint turned and curled into him, blinking his eyes open again.

“Hey.”

“Of course you’re a cuddler,” Phil chuckled.

“Z’at a problem?” Clint mumbled, smile going dopey as Phil put his arms around him.

“Not at all.”

“Mmm…good,” Clint let his eyes drift shut again as he tucked his face in against Phil’s chest.

They needed to have another talk. A proper relationship talk. A talk about what they would tell the others. What the boundaries of their relationship would be.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Stop worrying. Go to sleep,” Phil whispered against his hair.

Clint did just that.

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As you might have been able to tell if you are familiar with hockey, my version of the NHL is mostly made up of real teams and players with a few additions and substitutions. The Avengers replace the New York Islanders – sorry Isles fans – and they play at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn (they moved into it a year before the Isles did in real life). Their practice rink and offices are located at a hand-wavey location elsewhere called the Avengers Compound (mentally, I totally based it on the Kettler Capitals Iceplex).
> 
> The title of the fic is from a quote by the Great One, Wayne Gretzky. It also happens to be very close to a line Clint delivers to Kate in Young Avengers Presents #6: “You're gonna miss each and every shot you can't be bothered to take. That's not living life--that's just being a tourist. Take every shot, Kate. If it's worth caring about, no matter how impossible you think it is--you take the shot.”
> 
> I couldn’t help but include the cameo by the Arrow and Flash characters. Not sure I will ever do solo stories for them, but, they’ll turn up again in this verse. If there is any interest, I’d be happy to put up an 8tracks for the full set list from the karaoke night (including actual bits of Renner and Gustin singing). For the curious, I did freak out a little when Renner sang “House of the Rising Sun” again last week. Almost made me wish I had picked an earlier posting date. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [redsector-a](%E2%80%9D) because I am terrible at name/identity branding.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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